


The Kid Stays in the Picture

by chilly_flame



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F, secret santa 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-25
Updated: 2008-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilly_flame/pseuds/chilly_flame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda has been miserable since Andy left, and she's making everyone else miserable, too. Nigel and Emily have had it and now they're going to fix things. The only problem: the object of Miranda's affections hates her. But Nigel and Emily have a few tricks up their sleeves, and they have the Terrible Twosome -- Miranda's twin daughters -- on their side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, to thelastgoodname, whose prompt was the following:
> 
> 4\. Miranda has been miserable since Andy left, and she's making everyone else miserable, too. Nigel and Emily have had it and now they're going to fix things. The only problem: the object of Miranda's affections hates her. But Nigel and Emily have a few tricks up their sleeves, and they have the Terrible Twosome -- Miranda's twin daughters -- on their side.
> 
> It probably isn’t what you’d have written yourself, TLGN, but I took my best shot! It’s an atypical format for me, and though I finished the story in a certain way, I couldn’t resist throwing in what could be considered “deleted scenes.” And there are multiple random film-y references embedded in the text, so if you spot them, yes, it’s theft. :D I hope everyone likes it. Happy holidays, and God bless us everyone!
> 
> Second note: as I archive this, I noted it's been five years since this puppy was posted. I still remember having a great time writing it.

 

**NIGEL.**

 

Nigel dropped his coat in the hallway and left his scarf on the banister. His laptop bag fell over, and damned if he didn't feel like kicking the thing as he moved through the long foyer. The apartment was dark, the refrigerator empty, the answering machine message light unblinking.

 

He had not done more than sleep in his apartment for weeks. On some nights not even that—a shower and a shave were all he had time for.

 

Some weeks back, Miranda Priestly, Nigel's boss of fifteen years, had gone from a garden variety power-mongering bitch to a psychotic harbinger of doom overnight. Nigel recalled the night in question very clearly. It had sucked to be him. He'd nursed a drink or eight at the bar of his Parisian hotel after the very public revelation of his lost opportunity with James Holt. He'd sworn to get revenge on Miranda a thousand times.

 

But for fuck's sake, lately the woman was miserable. She was making literally every other employee at Runway miserable too. It was worse than he'd ever seen, and he'd seen a lot over the years.

 

He had one person to blame.

 

At first, he'd thought it was Stephen. Nigel was sure the divorce would be hard on her; the first two certainly had been. All that attention from the press and the public drove Miranda up a wall. Nigel had been careful not to mention Stephen's name around her, but when he'd slipped, Miranda hadn't flinched. She'd simply curled her lip in disdain and sniffed, much to Nigel's relief.

 

But one night a week later, they had drinks with a pair of handsome chaps from Dooney & Bourke. Once the two reps left, Nigel was waiting to sign the bill when he'd received a text message from Andy. They had kept in contact, messaging on Facebook and texting now and then. Miranda had looked at him curiously, and Nigel believed (since he hadn't heard anything to the contrary, which he surely would have) that there was no bad blood between them.

 

He'd shrugged. "It's from Andy. She's working on some interesting pieces for _The Mirror_ \--"

 

Immediately, Miranda's lips pursed. Her eyes flashed. Her nostrils flared. Nigel stopped mid-sentence and tried to pretend he hadn't seen the reaction. "Anyway, I thought Fabiano had some fantastic ideas about the accessories, and the sketches he brought along—"

 

"You've stayed in touch with Andrea?" she interrupted.

 

Nigel had frozen. "A little."

 

Miranda had looked away, as though watching something very intently across the room. "How is she?"

 

Nigel had not expected that tone from Miranda. It sounded almost… wistful. "She's all right. Working hard."

 

"For that rag. It's a disgrace," Miranda said, melancholy gone in an instant. Her jaw jutted forward in an odd, unattractive gesture. "She'll have that hopeful naiveté knocked out of her soon enough." She waved at the bartender. "Bourbon. A double."

 

Nigel had just stared as Miranda downed the whole thing in one long gulp. When she'd slammed the glass on the bar and opened her mouth, Nigel thought for sure she would ask for another. Instead she closed her eyes, and her hand shook as she lifted it to her forehead. "I'm going. Be at the office at 7 tomorrow." She hadn't looked at him as she left.

 

The pieces had fallen into place. Sad, sad little Six had gotten under Miranda Priestly's skin, and she'd left a trail of dead bodies in her wake.

 

Nigel was pissed about the whole situation, but he had no idea who he was more pissed at: Miranda for being impossible, or Andy for making her that way.

 

He decided he would not think about his dilemma for the rest of the night (what was left of it), and poured himself a good glass of single malt. Remote in hand, he clicked on the stereo, and sat back with a sigh to the melodious strains of Delibes.

 

It was heaven.

 

Five minutes later, his cell vibrated. He cursed Andy's name silently as he answered without glancing at the display. "Hello, Miranda."

 

\---

 

**EMILY.**

 

Emily sat at her desk in a fury.

 

It was Sunday. She was in the office. She was overworked and underpaid. But she still adored Miranda in what she understood to be a likely fatal case of hero worship. She saw Miranda Priestly as the icon of the fashion industry she truly was.

 

And Miranda Priestly had just accidentally called her Andrea.

 

Andrea.

 

Andrea bloody Sachs, who had abandoned her post at Miranda's side in the most beautiful city in the world last month, and suffered exactly zero consequences for it.

 

Emily had never been to Paris. At this rate, she wouldn't live long enough to make it next year. Miranda had been running her ragged, all the while stabbing Emily with quietly delivered insults on an hourly basis.

 

But none were worse than being called Andrea.

 

Remarkably, Miranda had seemed horrified at her slip. Her face turned to stone, and Emily thought for sure she'd blushed.

 

Emily knew why, and it made her ill.

 

Her powerful, brilliant, radiant boss was hung up on her former piddly little assistant. An assistant who'd been too obtuse to pick up on the obvious signals Miranda sent out, and foolishly walked away. When she left, Emily had to reassemble the pieces of a woman known to destroy lives when suffering from something as inconsequential as a hangnail.

 

Add a broken heart to the mix and all bets were off.

 

Emily had seen the chemistry between them. She couldn't deny it; like a Pandora's Box, once known, it was impossible to ignore. Emily had been shocked since Stephen had still been skulking about, but the night of the annual benefit, the truth finally set in.

 

Emily told no one. There was nothing she could do about it except keep trying her best and hope that Miranda would notice her dedication. Emily wanted a career in fashion, one that did not include running for coffee fourteen times a day and hauling skirts up and down Fifth Avenue every night of her life.

 

Not like silly Andy, who wanted to be a _journalist_.

 

Idiot. Emily didn't know what Miranda saw in her. But to her credit, Andy _had_ grown on Emily, and really, she'd done any number of nice things for her over time. But still. Everything came so bloody easy for her it was enough to make a girl insane.

 

"Emily," Miranda said from the inner office. It was almost a whisper, and the sound of it made Emily want to quiver in terror.

 

Emily stood and swallowed her fear. She stepped into the office. "Yes, Miranda."

 

"Go home." Miranda did not look up from the Book.

 

Emily's mouth opened, and five questions sprang to mind. She asked none of them. "Yes, Miranda." She hurried back to her desk and shut her computer down, ignoring the hollow space in her stomach. She refused to feel badly for Miranda, not after the way she'd been treated for the past month. But there was a vacancy to Miranda's expression that awakened something akin to sympathy in her.

 

Emily knew what it was like to love someone who didn't love you back.

 

Before she left, she glanced into the office briefly. Miranda was staring out the window, the frown lines across her brow more pronounced than usual.

 

Something had to change, as soon as possible.

 

\---

 

**THE TWINS.**

 

Cassidy listened from the staircase, and waved to Caroline. "She's coming! Let's go!"

 

They raced down the stairs to greet their mother, whose key rattled in the door.

 

"Mom!" Caroline squealed. They'd hardly seen Miranda all weekend, and it was Sunday night. They wanted only an hour of her time. Was that too much to ask?

 

"Hello, Bobbsey," Miranda said to both of them, touching their heads as they hugged her.

 

Cassidy furtively glanced at Caroline. Their mother's tone told them all they needed to know: she was sad. When she was sad, she withdrew. It was awful. And it had been that way for a while.

 

After much private discussion of Stephen and the divorce, the girls had dismissed him as the main cause for concern. The marriage had been coming to a close for a long time, and they doubted Miranda had been surprised to be served with papers. Besides, they never liked Stephen much anyway. He was such a whiner.

 

In the end, Cassidy was the one who figured it out.

 

"Emily's delivering the book now. Andy's gone."

 

Caroline had stared at her. "No way. You really think that's it?"

 

Cassidy nodded. "Mom used to talk about Andy all the time, remember? She hasn't said her name once since she got back from Paris. You think she fired her?"

 

With a sigh, Caroline furrowed her brow. "Maybe. But I don't know. Andy always did everything right. She'd have to do something really bad for Mom to fire her."

 

"I guess. It's weird." Cassidy narrowed her eyes, and Caroline got nervous. When her sister got that look, it never ended well. "I know. You ask Mom about Andy. Tell her you have a project you need help with."

 

"Me? Uh-uh. You do it," Caroline insisted.

 

"No, it has to be you. She'll know I have an ulterior motive."

 

Caroline rolled her eyes. "No way."

 

For the next minute, Cassidy tickled her until she relented.

 

Three days later, Caroline asked Miranda about Andy. She watched her mother's face, expecting nothing out of the ordinary. But Cassidy had been right; her expression was pained for a few unguarded moments before the anguish disappeared behind the usual mask. "Andrea can't help you with your science project, darling. She's gone."

 

Caroline's mouth dropped open. "You fired her?"

 

Her mother's eyes hardened and glared suspiciously at Caroline. "No. Emily will help you. That's all."

 

Miranda never used her signature dismissal with her daughters unless she was really upset. So that had been the end of that.

 

Tonight, they hoped that Miranda would be cheerful, or that she could at least fake it for a little while. Caroline tried first. "We kept dinner warm for you. Come into the kitchen and sit with us."

 

Miranda exhaled. "Mommy's very tired tonight and has to be up early tomorrow morning."

 

Caroline's lip quivered, and Cassidy couldn't abide it any longer, especially since she doubted her mother had eaten dinner. "Mom, please? Just a few minutes?"

 

Miranda touched her cheek. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

 

Caroline hugged her mother tightly around the waist once. When she let go, she ran up the stairs, wiping tears from her eyes. Cassidy stared up at her mother. "Whatever. G'night."

 

Cassidy stomped as loudly as she could up the stairs, ignoring her mother's plaintive, "Bobbsey?" She went to Caroline's room and crawled onto the bed with her. They held each other for a few minutes until Caroline's tears ebbed.

 

"I can't stand it anymore," Cassidy said with finality. "We're going to fix this."

 

"How?" Caroline whimpered. "We don't have Andy's number. And maybe she's not even why mom's so sad!"

 

Cassidy simply shook her head, determined to solve the problem. "We'll think of something. Just wait."

 

\---

 

**EMILY, CASSIDY & CAROLINE. **

 

Emily unlocked the door Tuesday night, hoisting the dry cleaning in one hand and the book in the other. Her walking cast had just come off, and her leg was weak but functioning. After unloading everything, she arranged the book artfully on the table between the vases of tulips and prepared to go.

 

"Emily!" someone whispered. A flurry of quiet footsteps followed. "Emily, we have to talk to you."

 

It was Cassidy and Caroline. Emily still couldn't tell which was which, but she assumed the chatty one was Cassidy. "I've got to go. Another time," Emily answered, unwilling to believe the girls had something to say that she was interested in.

 

"No, now!" One of them grabbed her arm. "Please! Mom's acting like a crazy person, and we need your help."

 

That tempted Emily, but again, she'd been the butt of more pranks that she cared to count over the years. "Why should I trust you?"

 

Caroline rolled her eyes. "You mean Mom isn't acting bitchier than usual at work? Isn't that enough motivation?"

 

Emily narrowed her eyes. "I wouldn’t say that exactly," she sniffed. "Where’s the tape recorder?"

 

"I wouldn't say bitch into a recording I was going to give my mom, stupid. Now come on." The other twin grabbed Emily's free arm, and the two girls dragged her into the coat closet.

 

Sadly, Emily noted that this closet was larger than her only bathroom, and there was plenty of room alongside the dozens of coats hung up around them. "Fine. Go."

 

The twin on the left took a deep breath. "We think Mom misses Andy."

 

Emily's mouth dropped open. "What?"

 

"She's gone, and Mom's depressed. She's sad every night when she comes home. Did you know she started getting _The New York Mirror_ delivered to the house every day? Isn't that enough of a signal?"

 

Emily did not know that little factoid. It was almost tragic. "I didn't know. How did you find out where Andy's working?"

 

The one she thought was Cassidy rolled her eyes in an unpleasant fashion that reminded Emily of Miranda. "Google, dummy."

 

"I suggest you stop insulting my intelligence or you won't get a thing out of me. All right?" The girl nodded. "What do you want me to do about it?"

 

"We want to get them together. You know, make them run into each other and lock them in a room. That works in the movies sometimes. They'll have a big fight and then get all their arguing out, and then they'll make up. It's the perfect plan!"

 

Emily didn't want to think about what it would look like if Andy and Miranda made up in a locked room. She shivered, both mortified and titillated. "How am I supposed to do that?"

 

The probable Cassidy crossed her arms angrily. "You're the grown up. You figure it out."

 

The other one handed Emily two business cards. "These have our cellphone numbers and email addresses. Mom doesn't have access to them. We're totally serious, Emily. I don't know if Mom was just friends with Andy or if she went gay all of a sudden, but I don't care. I just want her back. Everything's been shit lately and I'm tired of it." The girl sniffled. "Besides, Christmas is coming and I want good presents. If Mom's distracted, she's not going to pay attention to all the hints we're dropping."

 

Emily thought that sounded like an appropriate explanation. She actually believed them. "Well, I'll look into it."

 

The girls gave one another high-fives. "Awesome. Thanks, Emily. We will owe you bigtime."

 

Now that the girls had brought it up, the answer to all of Emily's problems seemed to be glaring her in the face the entire time. Get Andy back in the picture and Miranda calms down, at least to a dull roar.  It might be helpful to have an inside man, or men, to achieve her goal. She tucked the cards in her tiny clutch and gave them a nod. "I'll contact you when I have information."

 

"Ditto," the one on the right said. "We know your number."

 

\---  



	2. Chapter 2

**NIGEL & EMILY.**

 

Annabelle was at her typical twelve-minute lunch when Nigel came and flopped down into her empty chair. "Kill me now," he pleaded. "I swear, Em, I'm at the end of my rope."

 

Emily grimaced. "If you quit, I really will kill you. You can't leave me alone here. The place will fall apart. How in the hell we're going to get the April issue together on time is beyond me." They could speak freely since Miranda was out to lunch, and they had at least 45 more minutes of peace. Unless disaster struck, of course, which was possible at all times these days.

 

"I don't see any way out. Does she seem to be getting worse instead of better?"

 

"She does. I need a day off. Do you know she's had me in here the past three weekends?"

 

"Oh please. She called me at 3:30am last night to kvetch about Demarchelier's work with Giselle yesterday. As though an hour of her complaining in the afternoon wasn't enough already." He snorted. "Do you think  _Harper’s_ _Bazaar_  is hiring?"

 

"How did we get into this mess?" Emily asked unhappily.

 

"I'll tell you," Nigel said, looking around. "Andy Sachs."

 

Emily's eyes widened. "You think so too?"

 

Nigel sat up straighter. "You're kidding."

 

"Not a bit," Emily said, suddenly breathless. She got up and scurried to the other desk. "Are you certain Andy's the one who got her knickers in a twist?"

 

Nigel lifted an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have put it that way, but it's appropriate enough."

 

"I knew it," Emily hissed. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but could we convince her to come back?"

 

Nigel looked to the heavens and shook his head. "Not a chance. Miranda's number one on her shit list."

 

"Because of what happened in Paris? Does she not realize that if anyone deserves to be self-righteous about what happened with James it's you?"

 

"That's not it."

 

"Do tell."

 

"Apparently Miranda refused to give her any sort of reference for her new job. I stepped in, but Andy almost didn't get the _Mirror_  gig because of it."

 

Emily frowned. "When did  _The Mirror_  request a reference? Did it come through HR?"

 

"Nope," Nigel said quietly. "Apparently Andy's editor called direct and Miranda refused to speak to him. Said she didn't know anyone by that name. The guy thought Andy had fudged her resume till I talked to him." He stared at Emily. "Wait a second. Wouldn't that have gone through you?"

 

"It would have," Emily said. "If it did, I didn’t take the call." They both looked down at Annabelle's phone curiously. "Oh no."

 

"Annabelle never met Andy, did she?"

 

"Andy hasn't set foot in the building once since Paris. I asked Jason downstairs to keep a look out just in case. He would have called the minute she came around." Emily peered at Nigel. "Are you sure?"

 

"Straight from the horse's mouth. Andy said she didn't expect much, but even a bad review would have been better than what happened. The weird part is that I don't think Miranda has it out for Andy at all. No blacklists, no public shaming, nothing."

 

Emily crossed her fingers, and admitted what she thought was really up. "I don't think this is going to go away. Miranda's in love with her."

 

Nigel put his head in his hands. "Fuck. What the hell do we do?"

 

Emily checked her watch. They had five minutes before Annabelle was scheduled to return. "Listen, Miranda's daughters grabbed me two nights ago and begged me to help. They're the ones who helped convince me Andy's the problem."

 

"The twins? You're kidding."

 

"I wouldn't. Not about this."

 

"Jesus. It's worse than I thought if those two vipers are trying to do a good deed."

 

Emily nodded. "Are you free tomorrow at lunch?"

 

"I'll make myself free."

 

"Good. I'm going to find out if Annabelle knows anything about this."

 

"Text me when you find out, okay?"

 

"Right."

 

\---

 

**THE TEXTS.**

 

3:14p

Emily.

AB won't own up but looks guilty.

 

3:16p

Nigel.

Keep digging. AB not that sharp. You can crack her.

 

3:21p

Emily.

Got it! She didn't know who editor was talking about—assumed Andy was a guy. Didn't know A's last name and Andy/Andrea thing confused her (UR right about not that sharp). When no 1 asked, she kept it to hrself.

 

3:22p

Nigel.

Good detecting. Having drinks with A tonight. More later.

 

10:17p

Nigel.

A didn't buy it. Convinced Miranda tried to keep her from getting job. Still pissed. Also drunk so not the best timing.

 

10:19p

Emily.

Silly fool!

 

10:19p

Nigel.

Who, me?

 

10:19p

Emily.

Oh, stop.

 

10:20p

Nigel.

Anyway, think A's hiding something. Considering more extreme measures.

 

11:48p

Emily.

Got an idea. In the office at 7:45, Miranda in 8:15. Come by.

 

7:47a

Emily.

Abort, abort! M in early.

 

9:17a

Nigel.

At least give me a hint.

 

9:20a

Emily.

Twins helped. Imagine Xmas party—A&M locked in room. Alone. Have to work it out then.

 

9:22a

Nigel.

Will never work. Convincing A to show up impossible. And locked door? Sounds like bad movie plot.

 

9:32a

Emily.

Ye of little faith. Lie to Andy about event. Twins on board. Details to follow.

 

9:37a

Nigel.

UR taking the fall if this goes wrong.

 

9:39a

Emily.

If this goes wrong, we’re both dead so won't matter anyway.

 

\---

 

**THE** **TEAM** **.**

 

Ten days later, everything was set. Emily had reserved an enormous, over-priced suite at the St. Regis. Emily's brother in London had used a webcam to demonstrate how to jam a lock a few nights before. Emily had gone straight to the St. Regis the next day to test it out, and was surprised and relieved at how easy it was.

 

The twins had completed their own assignment: scout out the mail for holiday party invites as they arrived at the townhouse. Luck was with them when an engraved Ravitz Hanukah invitation appeared shortly after their task was set in motion. Cassidy put her Photoshop skills to work, and two hours later they had a gorgeous replica of the note with an entirely new date and location printed. Miranda merely glanced at it and placed it in her bag for Emily to RSVP to the next day.

 

Emily did not, in fact, RSVP, since they'd shifted the date by three nights. She prayed that Miranda would not run into Irv before Friday.

 

Meanwhile, Nigel asked Andy to come as his date to James Holt's holiday gathering, and she agreed once Nigel swore up and down that Miranda wouldn't be there. Nigel really had to lay it on thick, saying it would be mildly humiliating to attend since he'd been passed over for Jacqueline. Andy fell for it hook, line and sinker.

 

Now they just had to arrange the timing, and make sure that nothing went wrong. Because if Miranda got wind of their plan, Nigel and Emily would both be fired. As well as tarred, feathered and run out of Manhattan on a rail.

 

Emily had a panic attack not 24 hours before it was set to begin. She cornered Nigel in the men's room Friday morning, checking every stall before nearly bursting into tears. "What if Andy really does hate Miranda, and not just because of the job reference? Or what if she doesn't care about her at all? Oh my god, what've we  _done_?"

 

Nigel did his best to soothe her. "Listen, from everything Andy's said, she has feelings for Miranda. Right now, they're angry feelings. But Andy's a reasonable person, and once she figures out what's going on, she'll come around. Whether anything else comes of it, we'll just have to wait and see."

 

"Oh, lord," Emily moaned. "I'm going to be sick."

 

"Buck up, Em. Get back to the desk. We have to hold it together one more day, and no matter how it shakes out, things will be different come Monday."

 

"Do you get to collect unemployment if your boss fires you for locking her in a hotel room?"

 

Nigel rolled his eyes and left.

 

The plan was this: Nigel would deliver Andy to the St. Regis just before 7. The room would be empty of guests, but with hors d'oeurves and drinks all over the place it would look as though a party were about to begin. There would be a knock on the inner set of doors, which would be Emily delivering Miranda. Nigel would answer, push Miranda inside, and jam the lock. They'd wait a while inside the suite to make sure any shouts couldn't be heard from the hallway, and if all was well, Nigel would hang out in the bar for an hour or two and Emily would head to the Priestly townhouse to stay with the girls.

 

All in all, it was a ridiculous plan. But it was the only one they had, and it was happening come hell or high water.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**NIGEL.**

 

Nigel looked Andy up and down with a nod. She'd gone a little more daring than usual, with a Vivienne Westwood sheath and the Louboutins Nigel had scored for her on his last visit to Christian's office. Her lips were dark red, and with kohl-lined eyes, the overall effect was stunning. Miranda was in for a treat.

 

They chatted sporadically in the cab, Andy talking about her latest assignments, and the fact that she was very much enjoying being single. Now that Nate had moved to Boston, she loved having her freedom. Especially now that Miranda wasn't calling at all hours of the night.

 

For a moment, Nigel wondered if he'd been crazy when he agreed to this scheme. Maybe Andy was right, and a life away from Miranda would be better for both of them. But then the car pulled up outside the St. Regis, and Andy was already up and out on the sidewalk waiting for him. They were exactly on time.

 

As they strolled to the suite, Nigel sent his final text to Emily.

 

**Going in. Be here in less than 5.**

 

Upstairs, Nigel unlocked the door. The foyer was not long, and it opened out onto a sumptuous main room that glittered with candlelight. A small dining table was set with glasses and hors d'oeurves, one of which Nigel snapped up as soon as he spotted it.

 

"Wow," Andy said. "I guess we're early?"

 

"James said he'd be here in a few minutes."

 

"This place is gorgeous. I've only been in the bar downstairs." She went to peek out through the curtains at the view of Fifth Avenue. 

 

Nigel looked around. "This is certainly nicer than I expected," he muttered, wondering exactly how much the bill would set him and Emily back. Oh well.

 

As they made small talk, Nigel took a final turn around the place to be sure everything was right. He hoped Andy didn't notice that every phone in the suite was missing, including the one from the bathroom. He also kept an eye on Andy's bag, which he knew contained her cell.

 

When he heard the key in the lock, a few things happened. His heart started to race, and he had the sudden urge to pee. But he stayed focused, grabbing Andy's purse and bolting for the door. "Be right back," he said, swinging the second set of doors almost shut.

 

Miranda stood in front of him, glorious in a burgundy Donna Karan dress that dipped low. The priceless Buddha charm lay nestled in her décolletage—Andy wouldn’t be able to take her eyes off it. "Happy Hanukah Miranda, so nice to see you," he purred.

 

She looked immediately confused. Emily scooted in behind her, eyes terrified. "What are you doing here?"

 

"Oh, Irv invited me. I'm an expert at the Dradle game, and I make my own latkes. Come on in."

 

Five seconds later, he slammed the door shut behind Miranda. Emily jammed it expertly and they both backed away.

 

Their breathing was incredibly loud in the otherwise silent hall.

 

Not a minute later, he heard the furious pounding of a fist not a foot away from his head. "HEY!" came the muffled shout.

 

"That's Andy," Emily whispered, still clutching Miranda's enormous Marc Jacobs bag. "Get outside and please tell me you can't hear it!"

 

He ran for the door and slipped through it. It was utterly peaceful in the hallway. The walls must have been triple sound-proofed, which was one of the reasons why Emily had chosen it. The St. Regis was known for its luxurious accommodations, as well as its discretion.

 

"Not a sound," he said when he crept back inside.

 

"Oh, thank god."

 

There was a noise like someone kicking the door. "Nigel, you are DEAD TO ME!"

 

He shook his head. "So melodramatic."

 

Emily shuddered. "I've got to go. I told Caroline I’d be there by 7:30. I've gotten thirty texts from them in the last ten minutes."

 

"Good. Give me the bag." She handed it over, and he confirmed that Miranda's cell and Blackberry were inside.

 

"The hotel phones are in that closet." Emily nodded in the direction of a narrow door. "Hook them back up before you go, all right?"

 

"Got it."

 

"Call me when you know something. Anything. Even if you're in jail."

 

"Glad you believe in the power of positive thinking, Em. See you soon."

 

They shook hands.

 

Nigel crouched in a Louis XVI chair in the foyer and waited for the yelling and pounding to quiet.

 

He sat for ten minutes, sweating profusely.

 

Nothing happened.

 

Finally, he left for the bar, and set his phone alarm to go off after 90 minutes. That ought to be enough time.

 

Once seated on a tall stool in the bar, he ordered a martini. “I’ll need another one in about five minutes,” he told the bartender.

 

\---

 

**NIGEL, DRUNK.**

 

He gave them an extra fifteen minutes, mainly because he wanted to finish his fourth drink. That way, it wouldn't hurt so much if Andy kicked him to death, or poked his eyeballs out with the stilettos he'd given her out of the kindness of his heart.

 

Shit.

 

He lurched into the elevator, and for a moment, it was like the walls were closing in. So much for thinking that the booze would help. Now he was both drunk and paranoid.

 

Screw it, he thought. Just open the damned door and take whatever comes. Once he arrived in the foyer, he only briefly considered vomiting into the potted plant in the corner.

 

He unjammed the door the way Emily had shown him and knocked softly. When he put his hand on the knob, it jerked away from his fingers and flew open. Miranda stood there, imperious and silent. "Bag," she said. Nigel handed it over.

 

"And mine?" Andy asked, her voice flat as she followed Miranda into the foyer. He handed that one over too.

 

Neither of them said a word when they walked out the door.

 

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he said to the empty hallway.

 

\---

 

**EMILY, CAROLINE, CASSIDY.**

 

"What do you mean they didn't say anything?" Emily squawked. Both twins' heads were in Emily's face as they tried to listen in on the conversation. "Oh, fine," she said, and put the cell on speaker. "Tell me again what happened?"

 

"I opened the door and they walked out. That was it. It was weird." Nigel hiccupped.

 

"Are you drunk?" Cassidy demanded.

 

"Yep. But the phones are all back in place, and I'm going back to the bar. You'll probably know more soon so call me. If I don't answer, that means I've passed out. Don't bother with a message unless it's good news."

 

"They didn't give you any indication of _anything_?" Emily asked.

 

"None. Sorry. Gotta go." Nigel hung up.

 

Cassidy hugged Emily tightly. "Oh man, we are fucked!"

 

"Watch your language," Emily said sharply. She shook her head. "I don’t understand."

 

Caroline snuggled closer into Emily's lap. "She's going to be so mad. Emily, I don't want you to die!"

 

Emily deflated. "Me neither."

 

There were fifteen very long minutes of hand-wringing until Caroline heard the car. She grabbed Emily's arm and they set off for the bottom of the stairwell. The trio stood holding each other protectively when Miranda unlocked the door and came inside.

 

Her face was blank when she spotted them.

 

No one moved.

 

Emily thought perhaps she would be fired, and that she'd have to go back to England if Miranda had her green card revoked.

 

Cassidy believed that every game system and form of entertainment in the house would soon disappear.

 

Caroline decided she could live without the television, but if her mom took the computer, she was running away.

 

A noise seemed to startle all four of them, and Andy stumbled in and shoved the big door closed. "Geez, thanks for waiting, Miranda. You're such a roman-" Andy realized then that they had company. "-tic."

 

Caroline yelped in joy.

 

Cassidy clapped her hands.

 

Emily started breathing again.

 

"It worked!" Cassidy shouted, jumping up and down, yanking at Emily's arm. "Oh my god, it worked! We did it!" She leapt at Emily, grabbing her in a bear hug. When Caroline's weight joined hers, Emily hunched over, still unable to tear her eyes from Miranda's.

 

"I can’t believe it!" Caroline said, her heart squeezing in her chest. Even in those first few seconds she knew her mother was happier. That hopeless look was gone, and in its place was an expression of pleasure that made Caroline feel safe and secure.

 

"So you were all in on this?" Andy said dryly. "I should have known."

 

"It was my idea, really," Cassidy said.

 

Emily and Caroline both nodded. That was true.

 

Miranda lifted her eyebrow and glared at Emily. "I should fire you. And have you deported."

 

Emily swallowed.

 

Andy nudged her. "Stop it. Em, you're fine. You're ridiculous, but your job is safe."

 

"So now you're telling my employees what their jobs are?" Miranda asked her.

 

Andy rolled her eyes.

 

Emily relaxed completely then. If Andy was rolling her eyes at Miranda, they were practically engaged. 

 

Miranda took off her coat and tossed her bag on the hall table. "Go home, Emily. You've gone above and beyond the call of duty. And despite my better judgment, you're not fired. Do us all a favor and keep this little escapade to yourself, won't you? Otherwise I make no promises."

 

"Of course, Miranda." Emily smiled, and hugged the twins. "Good work!" she whispered.

 

"Bye, Em," they both said to her, with giant grins on their faces. "You saved us," said Caroline.

 

That was kind of sweet, Emily thought.

 

The girls flew into Miranda's arms, and got the first real hugs from her that they'd had in weeks. Caroline and Cassidy looked at each other and high-fived from within Miranda's embrace.

 

Emily put on her coat and turned to look back once before walking out.

  
Andy was watching her. "I owe you," she mouthed quietly.

 

Emily nodded. "You certainly do," she mumbled, and left the townhouse. “Everyone owes me."

 

\---

 

 **NIGEL, STILL DRUNK,** **AND** **EMILY.**

 

Emily sidled up to Nigel, who had his nose in a glass. "Hey sailor, new in town?" she leered.

 

He looked up and appeared to barely recognize her. "You look familiar."

 

"I should. My little plan worked like a charm."

 

"It did?" That perked Nigel up, until he frowned. "What do you mean your little plan? I believe it was _our_ little plan."

 

"Oh fine. You did help," Emily said. "I think we deserve to stay the night in the room upstairs. We paid enough for it."

 

"How much?"

 

Emily shrugged. "My Christmas bonus should cover it."

 

"You think you're getting a bonus this year?"

 

"We'd both better get one. We just saved the entire corporation from utter disaster."

 

Nigel had to agree. "I doubt _Runway_ would have had a staff by the end of the month if something didn't change."

 

With the true sense of accomplishment that comes only from a job well done, Emily sighed deeply. "I love it when a plan comes together." She glanced at Nigel's empty glass. "How many have you had?"

 

"Um, four. No, five," he said.

 

"Bartender," she waved. "Bring me five—what are you having?"

 

"Martini," Nigel said with a growing smile.

 

"I’d like five more Martinis." She tapped the table. "Just line them up right here."

 

The end, mostly.  
[  
](http://chilly-flame.livejournal.com/24268.html)

But wait, there's more! Deleted scenes to follow in the final chapter.


	4. Deleted Scenes

 

 **The Extras.**  

And now, for your enjoyment, the DELETED SCENES, starring Andy and Miranda.

\---

 

**ANDY.**

 

 _This party better not suck_ , Andy thought. _Nigel owes me._

 

Not that she had anything better to do. Work was her life nowadays. Although in theory she could have spent her Friday night working, she tried not to do so most weekends. She'd been at The Mirror a while, and it was going well. She got good assignments, got paid every two weeks, and wrote about things that were important to her.

 

She did not write about fashion. She did not care about fashion.

 

And most of all, she did not care about Miranda Priestly.

 

Bitch.

 

Andy really hadn't expected Miranda to treat her well after she quit in Paris. She expected to be blacklisted, or otherwise abused within the industry. But the fact that Miranda refused to even acknowledge her existence was a slap in the face. And the fact that Andy's replacement was already so visibly in Miranda's pocket made it a thousand times worse. She'd seen their picture in the paper twice already, and it had barely been six weeks! Andy hadn't gotten to go anywhere with Miranda for at least three months when she started the job.

 

Miranda didn't give two shits about her. Therefore Andy didn't give two shits either. Miranda could drop dead for all she cared.

 

Bitch.

 

But Miranda wasn't on her mind tonight, really. This party was going to be about her and Nigel catching up, and maybe seeing some of the other assistants whom she'd made friends with over the past ten months or so. Hopefully none of them would mention Miranda.

 

Andy had to admit this whole set up was a little bizarre though. A gorgeous suite at the St. Regis, and it was completely empty? Maybe everyone was down in the bar, and they were on their way up. Nigel had insisted that they'd be arriving shortly, but it still felt kind of odd.

 

He seemed nervous. Maybe he had the hots for someone who was going to be at the party.

 

The view was gorgeous from the room, and Andy spent a few minutes gazing down on the street. It soothed her to watch the cars make their way slowly down Fifth among the shimmering holiday lights and falling snow.

 

When Andy heard the sound of the door opening, she turned around to hear Nigel say, "Be right back."

 

And then Andy held her breath, because Miranda was in the room, and Nigel vanished behind the door.

 

Miranda, who looked beautiful in that color, and wore Andy's favorite Fred Leighton necklace tonight, as luck would have it. Her white hair fell enticingly across her brow.

 

Miranda looked as stunned as Andy felt at that moment.

 

"What?" Miranda said.

 

"I don't know," Andy replied.

 

There was a strange sound at the door, and Andy moved toward it. She tried the doorjamb, which did not budge. "It's locked," she said.

 

"From the outside?" Miranda hissed. "Don't be an idiot."

 

Andy stepped back. "Fine, you try," she said angrily.

 

Miranda tried. She tried again. The door didn't open. Andy banged on the hard wood with her fist, shouting, "HEY!"

 

Miranda shook the door knob furiously now. "Nigel has my bag," she muttered. "Dammit."

 

Andy glanced toward the table. "You're not serious." She bolted across the room and grabbed her coat, searching for the small clutch that held her cellphone. "Shit. Shit, shit, shit." She ran back to the door and kicked it, not caring about the fact that her shoe left a mark along white paint. "Nigel, you are DEAD TO ME!" she shouted through the door.

 

Miranda started smacking the door with an open hand, but it didn’t budge. Andy quickly went looking for a phone in the room, flustered when she didn't find one. "There are no phones in this whole place!" she exclaimed, confused.

 

Abandoning her post at the door, Miranda joined her in the search. "I found the jacks, but no phones. Clearly this was planned," she said.

 

"Yeah." Andy's shoulders slumped before she jerked up straight. "I had no idea this was coming, by the way. I wasn't involved."

 

Miranda turned toward Andy then and tilted her head. "I wouldn't think you were. I know you want nothing to do with me."

 

Andy blinked at her, shocked. "Please. We both know that's the other way around."

 

With a sigh, Miranda gave up. She sat on a luxurious settee and leaned on one arm. "Andrea, you left _Runway_ behind when you walked away in Paris. My behavior wasn't up to your pristine standards. There's no need to suggest otherwise."

 

Shaking her head, Andy just stared. "How can you say that to me? You're impossible to please! And I know what I did, which was stupid and irresponsible, deserves some kind of punishment, but to pretend I don't even exist is a low blow even for you, Dragon Lady."

 

There was a pause. "What are you going on about?"

 

Finally, Andy gave up her search as well, and sat on the sofa across from Miranda. "The reference my editor wanted. You know, when you said I never worked at _Runway_."

 

Miranda sniffed. "I did nothing of the sort."

 

"God, you don't have to lie, I got the job anyway. Thanks to Nigel."

 

"Andrea, I did not receive a request for a reference."

 

"Miranda, I was sitting right there when Greg called. He wanted me to coach him when he talked to you."

 

With a laser sharp glare, Miranda asked, "And what, pray tell, did I say to this charming fellow who needed coaching for a simple conversation?"

 

Andy thought back, and was mildly embarrassed. "Nothing. You wouldn't talk to him. Your new _assistant_ said you'd never heard of me."

 

Miranda looked almost surprised. "When was this?"

 

"Christ, Miranda, I don't know. I don't exactly keep a record of every conversation I have with you." Miranda waited, clearly anticipating an answer. "Oh, fine. It was a week after I got back from Paris."

 

Miranda stood then, going to the window to gaze down upon the city. "I wasn’t even in the city. I stayed in Europe longer than expected. I wasn’t planning--" She cut herself off and looked away. Tapping a finger on her chin, she said, "I'll speak to Annabelle. If I can ever find a phone."

 

Andy was incensed. "You're already calling her by her real name? Wow. You two really are best friends." Andy smashed her lips together, unable to believe she'd just said that.

 

An expression of gleeful curiosity spread across Miranda's face, and Andy wished she could smack it right off. "Best friends?"

 

"Just shut up," Andy said, getting off the sofa and going to the table. She shoved a stuffed mushroom in her mouth and washed it down with the rest of her champagne.

 

"Oh no, I simply must hear more. Ah, I’ve got it. _The Post_. Annabelle has attended a number of events with me recently. Is that what you mean?" Miranda laughed, and the sound danced down Andy's spine unpleasantly.

 

Andy ate two canapés in quick succession without even tasting them.

 

Miranda went on, her voice seductive. "She is very beautiful. Makes up for her lack of intelligence nicely."

 

Andy sneered. "Guess you didn't go for another smart fat girl."

 

"Unlike others I learn from my mistakes."

 

"Glad you found someone who could meet all your _needs_ now that Stephen's gone."

 

Miranda's smile froze, and vanished. She stared at Andy.

 

Andy stared back. She blushed violently, unable to believe what she'd just said. Her mind blanked, like a computer monitor shorting out.

 

"Excuse me?"

 

Andy's face grew hotter, and she made a high pile of canapés on a small plate. She grabbed the open bottle of champagne and a glass and headed for the bathroom. If she could just get in and lock the door--

 

But she couldn't. Miranda was hot on her heels and followed her into the small, opulent space.

 

"I'd like to know what you're insinuating," Miranda demanded.

 

Andy poured a fresh glass of champagne and sat on the closed commode. "Oh whatever. It doesn't matter anyway. I don't care what you do, or who you do it with."

 

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were _jealous_ , Andrea."

 

"Jealous? Ha!" She gulped at her drink. "Like I want to run around New York trailing behind you, carrying your coat and bag for the rest of my life. That's not me."

 

"But it was you. And you were exceptional at the job."

 

"It's not who I want to be."

 

Miranda moved closer, and Andrea got warmer. Why did she come into this tiny room again? "And Stephen. What does he have to do with this?"

 

Andy winced. "Not a thing."

 

"I believe you just suggested that Annabelle has taken Stephen's place in my bed."

 

"I didn't say that," Andy mumbled. 

 

"But you thought it. Which is… enlightening. Ridiculous, but enlightening."

 

Andy felt relieved at the word "ridiculous." She didn't really think that Miranda was sleeping with Annabelle. But when she saw the second photo of them together on Page Six, a white hot rage had flooded Andy's body. It _had_ been jealousy, and Andy was infuriated with herself that she cared. That Miranda, who was such an absolutely miserable human being, could still influence Andy from afar was too much to handle.

 

Miranda leaned over and went for one of the little canapés.

 

Andy jerked the plate out of her reach. "Get your own!"

 

That little satisfied smile reappeared. "My, Andrea, you really are angry with me. I find that rather gratifying."

 

Andy snorted. "You would."

 

\---

 

**MIRANDA.**

 

Miranda leaned against the marble sink and watched Andy carefully. As much as she was loath to admit it, this entire convoluted affair was working out nicely. The tumult of emotion rolling across Andrea's beautiful face told quite a story, one that provided Miranda with just enough hope to lift her spirits in a most remarkable way.

 

Miranda knew she'd been a tyrant lately, but she'd seen no solution other than to wait the feeling out, and believe it would pass. That her yearning was for this girl, who now sat on a toilet seat eating chocolate tartlets and guzzling champagne, was somewhat embarrassing. But love was blind, as the saying went. Miranda had made three perfectly appropriate choices of husbands in the past; perhaps an inappropriate choice might work out for a change.

 

If she could convince Andrea to go along with it. That might be tricky.

 

"That young woman has not taken Stephen's place in my bed," Miranda said firmly. "Nor will she."

 

"Good for you," Andrea replied.

 

“Annabelle’s been trailing after me out of necessity. Emily couldn’t exactly be at my beck and call on crutches, of course.” The surprise on Andrea’s face was just what Miranda wanted to see. "Besides, I've already chosen my next conquest," Miranda said, and as that beautiful red mouth twisted in disgust, Miranda snagged a lemon tart off Andrea’s plate.

 

"I don't want to hear about it."

 

"Oh, but I so rarely get to discuss my love life with anyone, and you've too much pride to go running off to your paper with the story." Miranda took a bite of the heavenly tart, and leaned her head back in pleasure. "Now, he's much younger than I, not yet thirty, with dark hair, and lovely eyes, and he has the thickest natural eyelashes I've ever seen in my life." Miranda sighed dramatically. "A mouth to die for, legs that go on for days, and truly, an absolutely stunning chest." Miranda could not help but glance down Andrea's cleavage at that. That Westwood dress did enhance things so delightfully.

 

"I'll fucking kill Nigel," Andrea mumbled.

 

"He's also intelligent and ambitious, and I believe he has a wonderful career ahead of him. There's only one problem, really."

 

Andrea remained quiet.

 

"Up until very recently, I was unsure he cared about me. In fact, I was convinced he did not, and that it was a lost cause." Miranda chuckled. "I've been impossible at the office because of it. Made everyone's life wretched. I'm sure it's hard to imagine me being difficult to work with," Miranda added slyly.

 

"Ha," Andrea said, "Yeah." She sipped her champagne and pouted.

 

"But I discovered I was mistaken, that the object of my affection did in fact return my feelings. Isn't that wonderful?" Miranda hoped she wasn't laying it on too thick, but it was so, so hard to resist.

 

Putting her head in her hands, Andrea crumbled. "I know you're enjoying this, Miranda, but can you please go away? I'm out of sassy rejoinders."

 

Miranda eyed the thick rug near Andrea's feet. She knelt, and pulled Andrea's hands away from her face. "Oh, you stupid girl, can't you see it when it's staring you right in the face?" Andrea gazed out at her with dark, uncomprehending eyes. "It's you. Though I have no idea why."

 

Andrea blinked. "Me?"

 

"Mm." Miranda was drawn in by her, as she always had been. Nothing had changed over the last weeks, unless the magnification of her feelings counted.

 

Blinking again, Andrea reared back. "Wait a second. I'm your _latest conquest_?"

 

Miranda rolled her eyes. "Poetic license."

 

"And I _return your feelings_? How do you even know what my feelings are?"

 

Miranda was over the waiting. She grabbed Andrea by the ears to hold her still. "Andrea, I love you. Now stop arguing with me and tell me you feel the same."

 

Andrea held very still, until she began to move forward. Miranda melted, barely able to wait to taste the lips that had taunted her for so many months. But she was denied seconds later when Andrea climbed over her and strolled right out of the bathroom. Flustered, Miranda struggled to her feet and followed her. She realized Andrea was muttering to herself. "If I may interrupt your deep thoughts, what is wrong with you?"

 

Andrea turned on her, eyes wild. "Wrong with me? Wrong with me?" Her voice rose into a screech. "You think I'm just going to fall at your feet because you say you love me? You must be out of your mind!"

 

"I most certainly am not!" Miranda said, infuriated. "You clearly indicated how you felt about me. Jealous over my assistant—my vapid little assistant who can barely answer the phone without screwing something up!"

 

"You called me stupid! To my face!"

 

"I've called you worse behind your back," Miranda spat, wondering what had gotten into her, thinking that this girl could be anything but unreasonable.

 

"This love thing is really working out for you, _sweetheart_. No wonder all your marriages worked out so well."

 

"Don't be rude, Andrea. My affection doesn't grant permission to be insulting."

 

"Ditto. And don’t call me stupid. Next time you tell me you love me, why don't you try something a little nicer."

 

"As if there will be a next time. I won’t waste the effort if this is my reward. Let's pretend this never happened and move on with our lives, all right?"

 

Andrea, still holding a glass of champagne, threw it across the room. The shattering of the glass startled them both. "You're taking it back? There are no take backs!"

 

"Why do you care? You obviously don't feel the same." Miranda took a deep breath. She would kill Nigel herself before Andrea ever got to him.

 

"I never said I didn't," Andrea hissed. "I'm—I'm just—irritated as hell that you _assumed_. I didn't even have a chance to catch up."

 

"Oh?" She tried to keep the hope out of her voice.

 

"Um, I sort of… do."

 

Miranda raised an eyebrow. "Sort of," she said flatly.

 

"That is to say, yeah. I guess."

 

Unwilling to relent until Andrea said the words, Miranda crossed her arms and tapped her foot.

 

Nervously, Andrea brushed her hair behind her ear. She looked a little green. "I mean, I love you." She gasped a little after saying it. And smiled. "I love you."

 

"Well," Miranda said quietly, "I suppose that will have to do."  But her heart was pounding, and her palms were sweating, and she felt something like joy bubbling up from a spring buried deep inside.

 

"Aren’t you going to kiss me now?" Andrea asked, eyes wide.

 

Miranda didn't smile, though she wanted to. "You're a little far away."

 

Andrea laughed then. "Oh no. You come over here. I'm not moving a muscle."

 

This girl was going to be trouble. But Miranda had known what she was in for since day one with Andrea. She would survive. Striding across the room, she opened her arms, and when Andrea stepped into them, everything else slid into place.

 

**The end, again.**


End file.
